


Lovely Little Details

by spencerreidimagines



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Meet-Cute, Spencer Reid Fluff, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencerreidimagines/pseuds/spencerreidimagines
Summary: Spencer and reader have a meet-cute at a small coffee shop
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 19





	Lovely Little Details

It was in a quaint coffee shop that Spencer had first laid his eyes on her. She was tucked into a corner, with her head low and her eyes steady. Her hands cupped a steaming coffee mug dotted with stars and hand painted constellations, as her eyes followed the wandering city-goers through the window beside her. A leather journal was splayed open before her; with a shift of her elbow, he caught a glimpse of the ragged manifestations of her thoughts.

He spotted lines and dots and creatures lining the side of her page, her sketches on the journal’s edge were specific; definite. He followed along the coils and stray hairs that sprung from her high bun, the slope of her neck, the slight smile that rested upon her lips…

Spencer sighed and righted himself in his seat to face the nearly empty coffee cup before him; he had been staring, he realized. He clacked his fingers against the table as he silently hoped the splinted moment when they caught eyes hadn’t been as noticeable as he felt it was.

A name was then shouted in the background, and through the bustle of the café he heard the soft kick of someone's hasty steps. He’d held his breath as he ran through the incredibly slim chances that it might be that stranger from across the room, a slight knot curling in his stomach as he had no idea what to say to this woman if she decided to confront him. When he felt a tap on his shoulder, his face shriveled into a grimace before he fixed himself to face this stranger, his eyes soft and apologetic.

“I think this might be yours,” a mild voice floated to his ears, “They handed me the wrong drink, then just gestured over here so…”

“Oh,” he responded, surprised, before reaching to take the cup from her hands and nodding in thanks, which she waved away with an awkward smile resting on her lips.

“I also noticed you staring earlier,” the beginnings of an apology began to push against his lips before she continued on, “Which normally would throw me off but, you’re kind of cute, so I thought I’d just…invite you to sit with me for a while.”

His brows shot up in surprise before he composed himself and checked his watch, thankful that he still had about half an hour before his lecture, “Sure,” he responded as he began to gather his things.

“Alright,” she sighed, donning an accomplished smile before she turned on her heel and crossed the room to return to her seat, nerves now beginning to fester in her core as she absently scanned over her notes to distract herself from the growing pit in her stomach.

‘what on Earth was I thinking?’ she thought to herself before she stifled her thoughts as Spencer set his things along the back of the chair and sunk into his seat. He flashed her a courteous smile once their eyes met.

“I have to admit,” he started, “I’m a little surprised that you’d invite me over here after you caught me staring.”

“You know, I’m surprised myself,“ she admitted with a small chuckle, "I don’t usually do things like this, but something about you caught my attention,” She paused as her gaze flicked to his hands playing at his sleeves, he was fixing the watch to peek out of his tweed jacket, “do you have somewhere to be?” she asked.

“I have a, uh, lecture in half an hour,“ he responded, his voice stern and yielding against her open ears.

"You’re a teacher?” she asked, brow raised in intrigue, to which he nodded with a shrug, “That explains so much about you.”

“It does?” he asked, his head lightly cocked to the side.

“Mhm,” she hummed, taking a sip from her mug, “You seem like the scholarly type.” His eyes flicked to the side as he digested her oddly forward answer, “What’s your name?”

“Spencer,” he said before he quirked his brow to silently request for her own.

“(y/n),” her gaze wide and inviting, before she set her mug down with a soft clink, and rested her chin onto her hand, “So tell me about yourself, Spencer, there has to be more to you than teaching.”

“I only teach lectures occasionally,” Spencer flitted his eyes to the table, her unwavering attention slightly overwhelming, yet warm enough to keep his own tethered between them, “majority of the time, I work in the behavioral sciences unit, in the FBI.”

Surprise and intrigue flashed across her features as she raised her mug to hide her gleaming smile, “Behavioral sciences unit, huh? So you study people?”

“That’s actually a misconception,” he began, “we investigate federal crimes through a behavioral lens. The creation of this department is actually a pretty interesting story,” She nodded for him to go on, and as he spoke, (y/n) followed his hands as they fluttered about, “When it was first established, most of the general public didn’t believe that serial killers could’ve had the capacity for compassion in their early lives.”

“Well, in their defense, it’s pretty hard to see someone as a compassionate human being after you’ve been a direct witness to the families that they tore apart,” (y/n) responded, frankly, “So, what changed their minds?”

“The profiles started working,” he said matter of factually.

(y/n) just nodded, a simple frown on her face as she digested his information, “It must’ve taken years for a turn around like that,” she lowered her mug, “I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been to get that department off of the ground.”

Spencer scoffed, “Yea, not many people liked to change their minds back then,” he responded, accents of jest and spite dancing along his words, “So, uh, what do you do?”

“I’m an author,” she responded, pride flashing across her features before melting into rested humility.

Spencer’s eyes flashed before his tongue dashed across his lips, he could only imagine the worlds hidden away in her mind, “How long have you been writing?”

“Oh, I’ve been writing for years, and it was a challenge to find a way to get paid for it,” she responded, dismissive yet firm with her voice, “nobody believed me when I said that I was going to open up the world through my words; make it seem more inviting and colorful than it’s turned out to be.”

He watched a storm roll across her gaze as she followed her rippled reflection in her mug, her finger lightly playing at the rim. “I know I probably just sound like every other starving artist out there,” she chuckled, “but I’ve dreamt this big since I was a kid, so a couple of naysayers aren’t going to stop me from doing what I love.”

Spencer nodded, “I know how hard it is to be doubted by the people who are supposed to support you,” an empathetic smile flickered across his lips, “it took my mother years to accept my career path.”

“Oh, yea?” she asked, “I had no idea you could meet so much resistance in becoming an FBI agent.”

Spencer chuckled, bashful, “Most of the resistance came from how young I was. The other training agents were nearly ten years older than me when I started.”

(y/n) startled a bit, “Ten years? How young were you when you started working for the FBI?”

“Twenty two.” He answered simply, and upon realizing her blase response, he quickly followed up with, “Most agents join the FBI in their mid-thirties.”

“Oh, I see I have a genius on my hands,” she jested, “somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” She muttered wistfully, her hands interlocked under her chin. “The jacket, the hair, the wide intelligent eyes; you have scholar written all over you.”

“You could tell that just from what I was wearing?” He asked, a mild wonder tinting his words.

“Mhm, writers study people too,” she responded nonchalantly, “passers by present so many details of who they are on the surface.”

He spared himself a glance as her eyes turned to the bustling city goers, drinking her in as much as he could. The white sheen of the snow covered sidewalks bounced off of her skin; she seemed to steep in the weak winter sun. He followed how her shoulders rose and fell with a wistful breath before she darted her gaze back down to her journal, her fingers caressing the page as kindly as the breeze that spins autumn leaves.

“That’s how I make sense of the world,” she started, “those little characteristics that no one pays any mind to make the world so bright for me, and I want to share that perspective with as many people as I possibly can.”

Spencer felt the apples of his cheeks grow warm as he gathered the earnest hope held in her eyes while she cradled the page between her finger tips. Her drive to share her craft ran so deep; she was so open and honest.

Before he could get another word out, his watch beeped, drawing both of their gazes to his wrist; their half hour was up. The rising excitement in his chest deflated as he began to tuck his watch back into its place, “I hate to cut this short, but I have to go.” He said, apologetically, “When can I see you again?”

“I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” An easy grin spread across her lips as she scanned her frenzied notes, “I like to come to this corner of the coffee shop whenever I have writer’s block, and I usually don’t leave until I have a decent story on my hands.“

Spencer’s lips quirked up to a grin that matched hers, before he nodded and stood to gather his things.

"On the off chance that I do leave before you’re done lecturing,” she started, grabbing a napkin and scrawling something across it, “Here’s my number. I would love to see you again.”

His grin widened as he took the napkin and pocketed it before gathering the rest of his things, “I’m glad you invited me over here,” he said bashfully with his hand gripping his satchel’s strap.

“I am too.” (y/n) responded, her hands cupping her mug once more, while she smiled softly, “now go before you’re late.”

With a curt nod and a gentle wave, Spencer turned on his heel, and made his way to the coffee shop doors, a slight bounce in his stride as he let his mind travel mere hours ahead of him when he could see (y/n) again. Her and her idiosyncrasies drew him in, and he could not wait to figure her out.


End file.
